by Cari Quinn
Dizzyduck: Oh, S, you’re getting me too churned up. I hate to leave you this way.
S-quared: That’s okay. I need a cooldown myself.
So that was why he was in the shower for a fucking fortnight. He’d been on the verge—or past it—of masturbating to dirty words on a screen. Words that wouldn’t appear in the chat window no matter how many times she hit the up button on his mouse.
Up, dammit, up!
Ah, to hell with it. She didn’t really want to know what they’d said to each other. He could have his duck. She didn’t even care. Tomorrow morning, she’d take her still-packed bags down to her car and go—
A muffled groan hit her ears. Then another. She followed the sound to the bathroom door almost without thinking. She must’ve misheard. Just like she’d misread his chat conversation. She bit her lip and leaned into the doorway, hoping like hell he wasn’t looking. Hoping even more she’d get a free peep show for her trouble.
The smoky shower glass disguised almost nothing. He was beautifully, blissfully naked. The ropey muscles in his thighs and ass snagged her attention first, and she swallowed. He had no visible ink, just gorgeous, golden skin. He bent forward slightly, hunching over himself while he propped one muscled arm against the tiled wall over his head.
See, maybe he just stubbed his…okay, that wasn’t his toe he was holding. Oh my God.
He was well-endowed. So thick that he’d rub every part of a woman just right. Long enough to make her mouth go dry and another part of her get really wet.
Then again, that might’ve been left over from earlier, when he’d gunned her engine and she’d been forced to stall out for her own sanity. Seeing this would not help on that score.
His arm muscles bunched, and she knew he was caressing his dick even if she couldn’t see the exact motions. His ass clenched and he dropped back his head, offering her a glimpse of his throat, each cord standing out in sharp relief. Every part of him appeared honed to maximum efficiency. Even that column in his fist, trapped under the waterfall of water. He leaned over to grab a bottle and squeezed it, the movement unleashing a few scented bubbles along with the pale purple liquid that poured over his cock. A familiar scent flowed over her, heightened by the warm water, and she barely suppressed a gasp.
He was using her shampoo to touch himself. To make himself come. Soaking himself in her scent.
She shuddered and gripped the doorframe. She shouldn’t watch. Shouldn’t violate his privacy that way. But she couldn’t make herself leave. Especially not now.
If he wouldn’t give her himself willingly, just this once she would take.
Sterling stroked his cock in long, even pulls, gritting his teeth against the rush of pressure in his balls. This wouldn’t take long at all. It had been months since he’d given in to the need for physical relief. Tonight, he couldn’t have held back if someone had pointed a gun at his head.
Either of them.
Christ, how had things gone so wrong? One moment he’d been laughing with Ang, sure that she’d ease off on the ridiculous sex talk once they were inside. He would’ve agreed to anything to make sure she had a safe place to stay. And yes, he did have a healthy appreciation for getting his way. His father had amassed a fortune by not playing by the rules—and, sometimes, by not abiding by the law—but Sterling had never operated outside the lines of fairness. His one and only tattoo on his chest served as a tangible reminder of his desire never to break his own code, no matter the cost.
Yet today, he had. He’d been determined to do the right thing for Ang, even if she didn’t fully agree with his idea of what that was. But that didn’t excuse his lie about his ex. Or that he’d bent her over a bed and pushed his fingers inside her so that he didn’t have to see the reflection of his own need shining back from her eyes. He hadn’t wanted to unfairly take advantage, so he’d done…that?
He’d become so aroused from those moments with her that he’d talked to another woman online in a far more suggestive manner than he’d ever done before. At least they’d ended the conversation while it was still in safe territory. It wasn’t right for him to be talking to anyone in that manner while his head was still full of Ang. While her scent still burned in his brain.
Already he feared nothing would ever drive her out of his head again.
He’d been forced to take a drastic step. He hadn’t intended to borrow the travel-sized bottle of her shampoo from the bag he’d carted to her room, but it had been tucked in the outside pocket and he’d been weak. So fucking weak. That heady raspberry and vanilla scent mixed with her arousal had driven him crazy, causing him to do things like this. To drown himself in a pathetic substitute for the wetness that had coated his fingers, to pour the thick, foamy liquid that brought her to vivid life behind his eyes over his stiff length again and again. Wasting it down the drain. Helpless to stop.
Worse, so much worse, to squeeze his balls and come in a hot, unrepentant rush that didn’t begin to lessen his hunger.
So he kept stroking, kept pulling on the sensitive sac beneath his cock. Apparently his many months of self-denial had led to him storing up a lot of frustration. Unless Ang and her slick, sweet core had unleashed something inside him he’d never experienced before. His sex drive operated at a steady simmer—except when he actively decided to ignore it, as he had recently—but this went far beyond that. His cock was hard again. Forget recovery time. All he had to do was breathe in deeply of that fragrant fruit and remember those tentative pulses around his fingers and he shot close to the edge all over again.
Tentative. Weak. All at once he remembered how her cries had turned high and thin, that the words she’d used seemed false. He’d been in such a hurry to get out of that room before he did something he would regret—like taking a pregnant woman against a wall—that he’d ignored the instant of intuition that now clubbed him over the head. But it didn’t stop him from dragging his hand up and down his cock faster. The anger and, yes, embarrassment beginning to brew in his gut drove him on. Making his grip that much more brutal as he dropped the empty bottle of shampoo and pressed his fist against the wall.
She’d lied to him. Faked her orgasm so he would stop. So he would go away and leave her be.
A growl worked its way free from his throat and he turned under the spray, his fingers still working his length. A glimpse of blue from the partially open door caught his eye, and he squinted through the streaming water, slicking his hair back with the other hand. Since he didn’t have pets, he had a good idea of who had been spying on him.
It helped that he swore her bare toes still peeked beyond the doorjamb. Bare toes bearing something sparkly. Polish or rings. Maybe both.
That same embarrassment tried to take over again, but he fought it down. She wanted to watch, did she? Well, he’d be happy to oblige. If she smelled her shampoo and heard his groans and figured out that at least one of them had been pushed to the breaking point, perhaps she’d endure the same restless sleep he knew he would face.
Either way, he was going to come again. And the Peeping Tomess would get to witness every moment.
He tugged harder on his erection, pulling it upward in uninterrupted strokes. It curved against his abdomen and glistened under the water. Every vein stood out in vivid relief, and his flesh had turned a deep, violent red from the friction he craved with each breath.
Blue flashed in the corner of his eye but he didn’t stop to look. Instead he threw his head back against the tile, pumping hard. Giving himself over to the torrential waves of pleasure that crashed through him as his balls drew up, throbbing between his legs. He squeezed tight, tighter. Making an inescapable vise. Her voice taunted him, those cries she’d made him believe now becoming his salvation. So close. She’d take him there again, unwittingly. Whether she chose to or not.
The memory of her moans shot him hurtling into the abyss, and he groaned with the force of his release. Long, ropey strings of liquid flew from his cock, disappearing into the water. Vanishing as quickl
y as the need that left him shaking and spent.
When he looked up again, chest heaving, the doorway was empty.
Ang woke up the next morning after a fruitful night’s sleep with only one thought on her mind.
He’d seen her. He knew she’d seen him. And he hadn’t stopped. He’d continued to masturbate for her enjoyment—and astonishment. Because somehow, some way, she still couldn’t reconcile the Sterling Vance she’d known all her life with the man she’d become acquainted with yesterday.
All the hesitancy he’d shown in touching her hadn’t existed when he’d gripped his own flesh. He’d owned it, mastering it with relentless strokes that had nearly made her come just from witnessing their power. Through the glass wall and the streaming water, she’d glimpsed how skilled a lover he could be, even if he’d demonstrated that knowledge on himself.
He’d been holding back on her, because of her. Why? If he truly didn’t want her, why had he gone after her shampoo? Unless he’d been running low and berries turned him on. Something had. Either what had happened between them or his little online chat had flipped his switch.
She’d had no choice but to return to her room and touch herself in his guest bed, as quietly as a thief on a quest for stolen pleasure. She’d borrowed his, even if it had looked a hell of a lot like pain at the end.
It wasn’t her nature to avoid the hard conversations—recent events with her pregnancy aside—but she really did not want to talk to Sterling about what had occurred between them last night. They’d had such an easy, drama-free relationship for the entire time they’d known each other that she still couldn’t quite understand where it had veered off course.
Blame your big mouth. You had to argue with his generosity, didn’t you?
She threw off the sheets and climbed out of bed, shaking off the last dregs of her fatigue. She might be hiding from her parents, most of her old friends and Pete, but she wouldn’t hide from Sterling. The very idea seemed untenable for reasons she preferred not to explore. It wasn’t just that he’d offered her kindness when her well had been running dangerously low. He was a decent guy. She didn’t feel like she knew much at the moment, but she knew that. The way he’d acted last night hadn’t made sense on a couple of levels, and she needed to find out why, no matter how awkward it might be.
After freshening up in the bathroom, she dressed in a pair of shorts and one of her loosest T-shirts. She didn’t want him to think she was trying to get him back in bed. Not that they’d been in bed to begin with. God.
She gathered her nerve and flung open the door, only to stop dead at the full-sized bottle of her fancy black raspberry and vanilla shampoo sitting innocuously on the hardwood floor. She picked it up and swallowed hard, helpless against the urge to pop the top and sniff the fruity fragrance. She’d never smell it again without remembering how Sterling had looked in his shower, arm muscles tensed and unforgiving, his hard length trapped in his punishing grip…
No. The goal was to have a reasonable conversation with him, not imagine him naked. He was her daddy’s friend. That made him sanctioned by the parents, which was supposed to make him dull and boring in her eyes. Though she was pretty damn sure her parents wouldn’t be thrilled about them living together, despite the fact that it was temporary. Even them dating without the added benefit of cohabitation would probably vex her mom and dad, although she figured they’d get over it way quicker than they would her being impregnated by Pete. Sterling was older than she was, yes, but he was all man. She’d had her fill of boys for a lifetime.
Perhaps that was why she was acting sloppy-stupid over the guy. So he’d been nice to her. Was that all it took to get her hormones firing?
Apparently, since Pete had asked her out and the next thing she knew, she’d been in a convenient alley sans clothes.
She made a face and set aside the shampoo. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on past failures. She would handle Sterling. Verbally.
Just verbally.
She jogged downstairs, noting the lack of dust on the rail—some housekeeper he must have—and headed straight into the kitchen. Sterling seemed like an early riser, and she wanted to catch him before he left. That it was Sunday probably didn’t make a difference. She’d bet he had a full schedule in any case, and that was after he met her dad for a round of golf at the club.
Unsurprisingly, he stood at the wide, granite-topped counter, the morning paper spread out in front of him and a halfway-peeled banana lifted to his lush mouth. That part of his face seemed at odds with his patrician features. Even his pale-blue eyes turned wintry and shrewd on a dime. But that mouth, so full and utterly bitable, had no purpose but sex.
She stopped in the doorway, suddenly shy. Okay, there was nothing sudden about it. She’d felt shy around him since last night when she’d sent that dopey text. Forget spellcheck—she needed a sanity check before she took action.
“Good morning.” Sterling didn’t turn or acknowledge her in any way other than the pleasant greeting delivered in his smooth, cultured voice. It lacked all inflection, so she couldn’t get any kind of reading on his mood. “I trust you slept well?”
It couldn’t be a shot. He wasn’t the kind of man who threw out conversational darts. “Yes. I did. Thank you.”
“The bedroom saw to your needs?”
She frowned. The bedroom did, but you sure didn’t. “Yes. It’s lovely. Thanks.”
Maybe if she kept thanking him, she wouldn’t feel so…useless. Even her sexual wiles were no longer in working order. Hell, Sterling had rejected the full-service aisle in favor of the self-serve one. That stung.
“And the shower accommodated you? Perhaps you’d prefer to take a bath in the future. There’s a claw-foot tub in the master bathroom if you need—”
“I’m not quite big enough to overflow the shower yet, so it was fine.” She couldn’t suppress her icy tone. “I didn’t see a tub last night,” she added pointedly, unwilling to keep tap dancing around this particular elephant anymore.
He flushed. Actually flushed. Damn if it didn’t make him even more attractive. It also made that newly activated nurturing instinct she’d developed surge to the forefront.
“It’s behind the door. I assure you, there is one.”
“I don’t doubt it. Your home seems equipped with every amenity.” Except lube, she finished silently, walking to the refrigerator. “Do you have juice?”
“Yes. On the door.”
She filled a glass with ice from the machine, then opened the fridge and removed the carafe, pouring the sweet-smelling orange juice over the rocks. After she put the bottle away, she took a long, gratifying sip, only to find him studying her, lips quirked. “You said to make myself at home.”
“So I did. Do you want something to eat? There’s cereal, and Hilda put together a quiche before she left. It could be reheated if you’d like. It’s vegetarian.”
He’d remembered. “I’m sort of off the vegetarian thing for the time being.”
“It’s a hard lifestyle to maintain.”
“Especially when your baby is craving sausage hardcore.” She only grasped what she’d said when his smile grew. Open mouth, insert lower half of torso. “I don’t need any sausage now. I’m just saying.” Yeah, that helped. Not.
“I’m all out of sausage, I’m afraid.”
No, sir, you are not. She’d seen that firsthand last night. “I’m good with the juice.”
He took another bite of his banana, chewing slowly and swallowing before he responded. “At least have cereal. I have cornflakes and shredded wheat.” At her wrinkled nose, he sighed. “Let me guess. Not to your liking?”
“Got any Count Chocula?”
“No. That I don’t have.”
“Booberry?”
His lips lifted again. “Unfortunately, no.”
“No prob. I’m not hungry anyway. Besides, mornings are iffy for me. Better if I wait to make sure the Maybe Baby isn’t intending to make me hurl.”
“Maybe Baby?
I thought you were pregnant for certain.”
She flushed. “That’s what I named the baby in my head when I missed my first period. The name stuck. I’m thinking of calling it Maybe Baby McFee. Like?”
“So you’re not giving the baby his name. Good.”
“Hell no, I’m not. This is my kid. He was strictly the donor.” She climbed onto the stool across from Sterling and took a bracing breath. As fun as it was to dance around the crux of the matter, her feet were already getting tired. “Look, about last night—”
“Pete Lamont already has a child,” he said quietly, effectively cutting her off. “He’s six months old. The mother has a restraining order against him.”
Dull shock wound through her system, and as usual, she reached for a joke to make the unpleasant feelings go away. “That must be some kid if he’s already causing that much trouble. If his mother has a restraining order against him,” she went on, biting her lip at his tense expression.
“This is serious, Ang. I’d always thought Pete was trouble, but now we have proof.”
She ran her fingertip around the edge of her glass. “Yeah, that mohawk was just the tip of the iceberg, huh?”
“I apologized for saying that.”
“You did. That doesn’t change that you thought it.” Her throat tightened. “I’m a mohawk kind of girl, Sterling. Guys like Pete make sense for me. Guys like y—”
“No matter what you think, Pete Lamont does not ‘make sense’ for you. He fathered another child months before impregnating you. He’s hassled both mothers of his children. Do you really think so little of yourself to believe he even has the right to look at you, never mind be part of your life?”
Tears formed in her eyes before she could blink them away. “Say what you want about Pete, he never did to me what you did last night.”
A muscle visibly ticked in his jaw as he reached for his coffee. “Want to talk about what you did as well, or am I alone on the chopping block?”